12,000 Pound Valences of the Dialectic

Forget all that nonsense about theses, antitheses, and syntheses (especially), about sublation or transcendence, or becoming. It simply won't do.

For this is what the dialectic looks like.

[Abolition meets itself in the middle and roars up, in joined friction, much like skyscrapers, leeches, libido, and lithospheric plates. Like meat trains mid-collision. It is not pretty. If there was a "third," it would come on horseback, from out of the blue. It would be bearing harpoons. But the only third in sight is the area where the water hits the sand, for it is the scene of this encounter, and it is marked, however muddily, however quickly the traces will be abolished.]

5 comments:

plowing through your salvagepunk chapter in comb/uneven apocalypse, not without difficulty, but with a clear sense of application, especially here in greece where cultural junk/past is heavy as hell. considered a translation as well, utopic as it may be. cheers.

I'm glad to hear, and I sincerely hope the plowing is not too difficult. Without knowing the Greek situation nearly as well as I'd like to (I've never been, although I badly want to spend time there), I can guess the weight of the unnecessary hangs - and presses - beyond what my infant nation knows.

A translation would be awesome, if you or someone you know feels like undertaking a quite large project...

I see. I thought we were witnessing the confrontation, a kind of heavy, agitated stalemate, between two forces. But now it's clear: a rather unruly self-division of a single, corpulent, mass. Is this what communism looks like?